Cold Salad, Purpose, &After XMas
by somatogenic
Summary: 3 short stories set during season 3. H/W and Cameron stress.


**AUTHOR: **misstressmax (lj)/ somatogenic Written as part of a challenge on lj. You take a book, my choice being_ Gone With The Wind_, and every 45 pages or so pick the last sentence on that page and write about it. Placed during season 3.

"_You're sweet! I'll bet the other boys will be hopping mad."_

As House and Wilson made their daily walk to the cafeteria, House noticed something _strange_. It began with prickles on the back of his neck, but he ignored it. Next, came the goose bumps; he disregarded those too. It was when he compulsively shuddered and felt a sudden chill across him, he who never got cold that he finally looked around. The hallway was, as usual, filled with the normal tide of people that slowed and changed but never ceased, but the was something, or some things, that stood out. There were five or so nurses, crowded in a circle glaring at him in the midst of stream of activity. He racked his brain for any particular offense he had caused them, when he felt a tug on his elbow.

"Come on! The salad will get cold," joked Wilson, urgently looking up at him and tugging at his sleeve playfully. House considered his friend for a moment, then turn back to the sirens. They stared angrily at him, and he could feel his face turn red, though not with embarrassment ("You have to have humility to be embarrassed," James once said to him). It took him but a split second's look back at Wilson's hopeful face to make him understand.

"Come along, Jimmy, we have work to do," he smirked, and slid an arm around Wilson waist, pulling him in closer as they walked side by side, each step perfectly aligned. His companion shot him an odd look, but was contented when he chalked it up to one of the doctor's eccentrics. House stole once last look at the fuming, jealous women behind them, and transformed his triumphant smile into a kind, gentle one at Jimmy, who was understandingly startled. He laughed, though, that tinkling one where all his sparkling white teeth show and dimples darken into oblivion, and House thinks that those women might actually have something to be green about.

_Ellen O'Hara was thirty-two years old, and, according to the_

_standards of her day, she was a middle-aged woman…_

Allison Cameron's body sagged with the weight of the world as she manage to jog hurriedly into the elevator before it closed, a kind hand holding it open for her.

"Hey," she breathed to Dr. Wilson, flashing him a quick, joyless smile.

"Hey your self," he charmed back, and she couldn't help but really smile at him this time, "are you-" he paused, trying to find the words as she adjusted a bra strap and put her numerous bags down, "-alright?"

"Oh, me?" she laughed and looked around the empty elevator; as if it couldn't possibly be her he was talking to. Bewildered that he was, infact, concerned about her she turned back to him, puzzled.

"Yeah, why?"

"You just look a little…" he stopped as her saw her pretty face pale and big blue eyes widen.

"What?" she breathed, as if the wind had been knocked out of her.

"…You look great," he finished lamely, and Cameron gave a startled squeak and covered her face, completely dropping three of the seven or so shopping bags she'd been carrying.

"Oh!" she groaned, and picked them up, her hair coming undone from her already messy ponytail in the process.

"Oh no," she sighed. 'Not today. Why'd it'd have to be _today_," she continued, and nearly jumped out of her skin when the elevator bell rang her floor.

"Oh _shit _!"

She scrambled off, and in her rush, tore the seam of her skirt. He heard her anguished cry even as she disappeared from view.

Parking haphazardly outside her apartment building, she flew up the steps, seven heavy shopping bags in tote, since the elevator happened to be broken. She ran up those steps, and was reminded of her cross-county running days in high school and college.

'_Pace yourself,'_ she repeated to her self as a mantra, _'one step at a time'._

Bursting into her small room, wheezing and coughing, she found it empty. She looked around the tiny apartment, behind the couch, under the bed, as if this were just a big joke and he'd be hiding somewhere, and at any second he'd leap out screaming: "Surprise!"

Her wildly beating heart near stopped when she saw the red light of the answering machine. With a trembling hand, she pushed a button, breath held in suspense.

"Hey, you've reached Brent and Allison's place, but unfortunately we're not here. Please leave a message after the-" her overly chirpy voice was cut off by a loud beep, then silence.

"Hey, Ally, I'm not going to be home until late again, okay. So, you know: don't wait up for me," there was a pause, and the next sentence came out sounding like, because it problem was, an after thought, "oh, and uh- Happy Anniversary baby,"

She collapsed onto her sofa, and felt more tired than she ever felt in her life. Slowly, she picked out some of the foodstuffs from the bags and put them away in the fridge. It was only when she was putting away Boston Market's special rotisserary chicken that she thought, 'well screw him', promptly opened up the plastic box, and bit into a leg. Since she hadn't eaten lunch (because she'd used her lunch break to go get the food in the first place) it tasted delicious, heated or not, She grabbed the large bin of mashed potatoes and dug in, using a random plastic spoon she'd found in the kitchen. A telephone ring interrupted her gorging. Her mind raced with things to say to Brent. Should she be forgiving? Kind? Or un-repentive and angry?

"Hello?" she answered, mechanically rearranging her clothes and hair.

"Listen," it was Cuddy's voice, "we've had a fifteen car pile up and need all the hands we can get. We'll discuss overtime later," she heard sirens and screams in the background, her mind was already calculating, "will you be here?" Cuddy's worn voice commanded, rather than asked. She didn't need to. Cameron was already packing her things away, the feast, and the ruined two-year engagement party forgotten.

"I'm on my way," she said sharply, and hung up the phone.

As she rushed into her car for the third time that day, she caught her face in the rear view mirror. Wilson had been more than kind to her earlier. Her hair was static-y and mussed, clothes wrinkled, make-up smeared. She looked far older than her age, and couldn't remember the last time she'd gone out to a party on the town with her girlfriends. She paused, but stuck the key in the engine and started the car.

She wasn't paid for her beauty, after all. She was paid for her _brains._

_They had sorely missed the excitement of the drills while_

_away, and they counted education well lost if only they could ride_

_and yell and shoot off rifles in the company of their friends_.

[Set after 'A Merry Little X-Mas'

It had been three days, seven hours, and forty-five minutes since they last saw each other on that fateful Christmas day._ 'Forty six,'_ House mentally chided himself, without looking at a watch. He was far too busy looking at someone else. That someone looked as tiered as- well, he couldn't think of a just comparison when he saw his Jimmy's face. They stopped at the same moment, as if timed, at the sight of each other. It was like one of those old shootouts, he thought grimly, panicked mind trying to gain stable ground, where the one who moves first is the-

At that moment James Wilson flung himself into Gregory House's arms, holding him tightly, possessively, towards him.

"Shut up," Jimmy chided, whither to himself to him he could not gather. Perhaps both, he corrected as he felt those strong arms feel so weak around him. He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do, for the first time in a very long time speechless and stunned.

"I missed you," James mumbled, stepping away from him and straighting out his lab coat. House's body leaned towards him, unbalanced now the counter weight for his cane had gone.

"Apparently,"


End file.
